Is It Permanent
by ironauthor
Summary: What if Dr. Erskine's super serum isn't permanent? This question becomes all too real after Captain Steve Rogers collapses in the small New York deli. Takes place immediately after the battle with the Chitauri. Steve-centric but all characters are involved.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The characters depicted here are not owned by me. All hail Marvel.

Author's Note: If you are one of the two people left on Earth who haven't seen Avengers, go see the movie, then come back and read this. Mild spoilers.

* * *

Is It Permanent

The six of them sat around the only table in the place. An employee was silently sweeping in the corner, averting her eyes from the group of all-powerful beings leading a mass takeover of her restaurant.

It was Tony's idea. None of the others – except maybe Thor – were very enthusiastic about the suggestion, but no one was going to deny the man who flew through a portal with a nuke on his back of his request. The team gathered in the little New York restaurant after handing Thor's psychotic brother over to S.H.I.E.L.D. They ordered the only thing on the menu. Shawarma. They were bruised and battered, but congregated anyway. After all, Stark was buying.

Thor inhaled another shawarma and Tony wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin. Bruce messaged his forehead, trying to assuage his pounding headache. Clint and Natasha sat facing each other, Clint's legs propped on Natasha's chair and Natasha picking meekly at her food.

Steve shifted his weight and rested his angular chin on his fist, his tired blue eyes peeking out from under drooping lids. His shawarma sat untouched on the plate in front of him. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't restless like he had been since he'd woken up in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s 40's themed recovery room. He was just... tired. Extremely tired. Drained. That's the word. Steve felt as if his body had been completely drained of all tangible energy. He hadn't felt like this since... When? Before Dr. Erskine's experiment? No, that couldn't be. He thought back to his time with the Howling Commandos. Never after one of his missions with them had he ever felt this physically exhausted. Tired? Yes, but a quick nap and a couple plates of chow and he was good as new. This was different.

Steve took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His whole body ached. The damn Chitauri had shown no mercy for the entirety of the battle. And they had just kept coming. He remembered his relief when Natasha's voice came over their communication link, insisting she could close the portal. "Do it!" he'd practically screamed. _Make this stop_, he'd thought. He cringed, remembering Tony telling her to wait, telling her not to halt the onslaught. He was forced to grit his teeth and keep fighting, fight until the end. That blow from the Chitauri staff had almost finished him. It had ripped through his suit and knocked him to the ground, but he had gotten up and kept fighting until the moment the nuke detonated and the Chitauri forces stopped. Until Stark was safely back on Earth. Until they had apprehended the treacherous Loki. Until the end.

His hand drifted to the wound. Blood had hardened around the edges, the skin still raw under the frayed whole in his star-spangled garb. Tony cleared his throat, snapping Steve out of his reverie.

"So..." he mumbled, "Shawarma?"

"Delicious, Man of Iron!" Thor roared, scaring the living daylights out of the lady behind the counter. Most of the team chuckled. Steve smiled weakly. Tony noticed and shot the captain a concerned look.

"What about you, Rogers?" he asked, "Shawarma?"

Steve leaned back in his chair and glanced uncertainly at his uneaten shawarma. "It's..." he faltered and slid off of his chair, hitting the ground with a solid thud.

_~A~_

Captain America ran quickly through the Hydra headquarters, looking frantically into room after room. He'd already freed the captured men, but one was missing. His best friend was missing. He finally found Bucky Barnes strapped to a table, presumably tortured by Hydra.

"I thought you were dead," he said, clutching his friend.

"I thought you were smaller," Bucky responded.

Steve helped Bucky from the room, alarms blaring in the distance. They had to get out. Quickly. Bucky, not surprisingly, was full of questions regarding Steve's transformation. Steve led the way, Bucky spout inquiries.

"Did it hurt?"

"A little."

"Is it permanent?"

_~A~_

Steve's eyes snapped open. He gasped and sat bolt upright, his eyes alert, scanning the room for threats. The room was small with white walls and a matching door. The window on the opposite wall was open and a warm breeze wafted into the room. Steve swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his face with his hands. _What the…_ he thought, racking his brain, searching for the last thing he remembered. Shawarma. But then what?

The door creaked open and a woman dressed in white scrubs walked in holding a clipboard. Her eyes widened when she saw that Steve was sitting up, his legs dangling off of the hospital bed. "Captain!" she shouted, frantically rushing over to the bed, "Please lie back down. You have to rest."

"What happened?" he questioned, ignoring the nurse, "Where am I?"

"Stark Tower," another voice said. Natasha was standing quietly in the doorway. Her face was peppered with cuts and small bandages. She walked in and rested her hand on the nurse's shoulder. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll take it from here."

The nurse gave her a wary look and then retreated from the room.

Natasha walked over and stood at the foot of the bed. "Lie down, Steve."

Steve obliged. He didn't want to upset the Black Widow.

She gave him a quizzical look. He had always been a legend to her. The super-soldier, lost at sea and never found. Her S.H.I.E.L.D. training had addressed him as something of a lost deity. She'd read his mission reports, tales of his exploits, and heard endless stories from Coulson. But now that she'd met him, fought with him, he wasn't really a legend anymore. He was a soldier. He was a teammate. He was a good man. And now he was hurt and there was nothing she could do to help him. Natasha didn't like feeling helpless. They sat in silence, staring at each other for more than an appropriate amount of time. Steve broke the silence.

"Stark Tower?"

"Stark Tower," Natasha confirmed, "The recovery ward. Thor flew you here after you… collapsed." She pointed to the window. "We're right under Stark's penthouse. The window isn't open, it's broken."

Steve smirked, picturing the look on Tony's face when he first realized how damaged Stark Tower was. He settled into the pillows and noticed for the first time that he was hooked up to a dozen or so machines. Close to twenty wires protruded from his arms and chest. A wave of nausea hit him and he grimaced.

"What happened to me?"

Natasha sighed and closed her eyes. "It's not permanent, Steve."

Silence again. Steve didn't understand. He felt weak, his mind was foggy and his vision kept fading in and out.

"I don't…" he trailed off.

"The serum, Steve," Natasha said, answering his unasked question. "It's wearing off."

His eyes widened. He looked down at his hands, studying the calluses created from wielding his shield. His eyes traveled up his arm, the toned muscles, the defined veins, the recently inflicted cuts and bruises. He concentrated on the bruises. It'd been, what, a day since the battle with the Chitauri? Maybe more. He wasn't sure how long he was unconscious. Either way, it didn't matter. With his enhanced abilities, they should have been gone. Or at least faded. These looked _worse_ than they had after the battle. Come to think of it, he felt worse. All over. Everything ached and he felt like the Hulk had crushed him until his muscles turned to Jello.

One of the machines started violently beeping. He swayed and put his hand to his head.

"Steve?" Natasha said and moved to his side, hand outstretched.

"Na…tash…a?" Steve stammered, his vision was blurring and fading, his head pounding and his heart racing.

"Steve!" her voice was distant now, over powered by the beeping and the sound of footsteps storming into the room.

_~A~_

"…stable. Muscle deterioration is at twenty percent," chimed a familiar robotic voice.

"Thanks, JARVIS," Tony murmured, "Turn off the anesthesia."

"Already done, sir," JARVIS said, "Captain Rogers is regaining consciousness."

"Good," Tony said, "Now pump the pain killers up to eleven."

"Yes, sir."

Steve's eyes fluttered open. Tony's face was hovering over him.

"Morning, gorgeous," he said.

Steve looked at him incredulously. "Wha-?"

Bruce's head appeared next to Tony's. They both looked extremely tired. Tony had a couple of bloody gashes on his face and Bruce had the beginnings of a black eye. Or was it just a big, dark circle from lack of sleep? "You went into cardiac arrest, Captain," Bruce said.

"We brought you back," finished Tony, patting his arm.

Steve suddenly cried out in pain. His arm felt like it burst into flames from the point of Tony's touch. Pain licked up his arm and tore through the rest of his body. His back arched off the bed and the machines beeped frantically. He screamed.

"Steve, stop!" Bruce shouted, stepping quickly away from the bed, his hands held in the air like some accused criminal.

"JARVIS! Stop the meds!" Tony ordered, taking a large step back as well.

"Yes, sir," Jarvis replied. "Captain Rogers is losing consciousness."

"_Shit_," Tony cussed, not so calmly. "Steve!" Tony shouted over Steve's tortured screaming, "Come on, man, hang in there. Come _on_!" Tony turned a dial on a machine and stabbed a syringe into Steve's chest.

The pain subsided and Steve lay panting on the exam table. He was no longer in Stark Tower's recovery room but had been moved to one of Tony's workshops. Display screens with complicated symbols and text covered the walls and even more wires were attached to his body. He was shirtless and his whole body gleamed with sweat. He felt like a science experiment. The feeling was familiar.

"What the hell was that!" Tony demanded.

"Muscle deterioration is at thirty percent," JARVIS announced. A string of cuss words exploded from Tony's lips. Bruce was leaning tiredly against the wall, breathing heavily, his hands messaging his forehead. Tony moved quickly to Steve's side, careful not to touch his suffering friend. Was friend even the right word for their relationship? Tony wondered in the back of his mind. He'd barely met the man and hadn't even spent any time with him where they weren't battling an insane demi-god and his alien army. He glanced at Bruce out of the corner of his eye. He had developed a special bond with them. All of them. Bruce, Steve, Clint, Thor, even the infamous Natasha Romanoff. They were all linked now, whether they liked it or not. And Tony thought "friend" was as appropriate a word as any.

"Steve," Tony said urgently, "Steve, can you hear me? It's Tony. Tony Stark. Iron Man. The genius, billionaire, playboy," he made a sweeping motion with his hand, "You know the rest. Where is the pain localized? I need to run a series of tests on your neurotransmitters and – "

"Speak… English," Steve mumbled weakly.

Tony broke into a smile and Bruce let out a sigh of relief. "Steve, we need you to open your eyes now," Bruce instructed, "Open your eyes and shift your weight a bit." Steve's eyes were tightly shut and his jaw was clenched but the rest of his body was limp, which worried Bruce. He was thinking paralysis. It didn't seem likely, but neither he nor Tony fully understood what they were dealing with. Dr. Erskine was frustratingly vague when recording his research.

"Everything hurts," Steve muttered, but slowly opened his eyes. He was never one to give in to pain. This was becoming his personal test. He was testing not his physical, but mental endurance. He gasped with pain as he flexed his muscles, head to toe. Everything moved, but everything hurt.

Tony and Bruce exchanged nervous looks. Steve grimaced. "What is it?" he asked, "What's happening to me? Natasha said the serum was…" he faltered. What was the serum doing? Failing? Natasha had said, "wearing off," but Steve couldn't quite wrap his head around that. His mind flashed to Bucky again. His questions. "Is it permanent?" Bucky had said. "So far," Steve had responded. So far. The words burned themselves into his brain. So far.

"Steve," Bruce said gently, "We don't know exactly what is going on but, yes, the serum seems to be…" he looked at Tony, visibly fumbling for the right word.

"Halting? Failing? I don't know," Tony said, "But it appears that your damn super-cells are killing each other."

"Stark," Bruce cautioned.

"He needs to know," Tony insisted, "Maybe he can even help. He's the only one still alive that was directly involved with Erskine's experiments." Tony sat at the foot of Steve's bed. Steve winced as pain shot up his leg, but grit his teeth and focused on the man in front of him. He could see Tony's gears turning, figuring out the best way to explain to him what was going on. Translating his technical thoughts into common English. "Your body's cells," Tony began, "were each individually enhanced by Dr. Erskine's serum. But now something is happening, all the way down on the cellular level, to undo that enhancement." Tony shot a frustrated glance at Bruce. "I can't explain this. You do it."

Bruce sighed and continued, "We believe your cells are beginning to attack each other, which is causing your body to slowly deteriorate, starting with the muscle built by the serum."

"Not really beginning," Tony added, "Thirty percent of your muscle mass has already destroyed itself."

"Actually, sir," JARVIS droned, "Forty percent."

"Damn," Tony said under his breath and adjusted some dials on a machine. "Steve, just look down. See for yourself."

Steve shifted his head painfully so that he could glance at his chest. What he saw scared him. Which was hard to admit. Not much scared Captain America. But based on what he saw, he wasn't Captain America anymore. He was turning back into that scrawny kid with the five exempts.

Steve stared at Bruce. Then at Tony. Then closed his eyes. "You're trying to tell me that the serum has turned my cells into, what, cannibals or something?"

"Uh, yeah," Tony said distractedly, "If you wanna put it that way, sure." His brow furrowed and he gestured to Bruce. "Hey, Banner, come here a sec, would you?"

Bruce walked quickly over to Tony, careful not to bump or brush up against Steve. It seemed, evident from the screams emitted earlier, that touching the captain sped up the deterioration. Laying a finger on his skin was like setting off a horrible, destructive reaction within his cells. Bruce's face bore a nearly permanent expression of angst. He was worried about Steve. Worried about the team. They were a time bomb. He honestly wasn't sure how long it would last, especially if they lost the captain.

Tony pointed to a specific number on the display screen. "Look at that."

Bruce's jaw clenched and he messaged his forehead again. Bruce felt like that was all he did when the "other guy" wasn't flaunting his might.

Steve was lying still on the exam table, staring dejectedly at his disappearing muscle mass. It seemed to Tony that the man was having a hard time accepting the fact he may never bench 800 again.

Tony cocked his head slightly. An idea was forming. "It's the serum," he said to Bruce, "The serum needs something. Something that'll reverse the damage already done by it and exemplify the serum's initial results. Something like – "

"A booster shot." Clint was leaning against the doorjamb. ACE pressure bandages were wrapped from his shoulders to his wrists on both arms. A butterfly bandage covered a cut on his forehead and his eyes were hidden behind dark shades. Bruce, Steve, and Tony looked at the door. The man was like a phantom. Who knows how long he'd been standing there.

Tony snapped his fingers, a triumphant spark in his eye. "Yeah," he said, "Yeah, that's it! A booster shot. Something to kick the serum into over drive again and get the Star-Spangled Super Soldier back on his feet."

"But how?" Bruce asked, "A booster shot made of what? Let's face it, hundred's have tried to replicate Dr. Erskine's experiment and, well, failed. Miserably." He flexed his shoulder muscles uncomfortably, his purple shirt straining against his skin.

"Gamma's out of the question," Tony said, "But what about this?" he tapped his arc reactor, "This element is powerful. An energy masterpiece, if I do say so myself. If we could condense it, turn it into an injection, maybe throw in a bit of Cap's genetic code, it'd be like steroids for a genetically enhanced mutant."

Steve snorted. _Genetically enhanced mutant_. Tony was running out of snarky nicknames for him.

"That," Bruce punched a few things into the a computer and scanned the resulting text, "Might just work."

"You're welcome," Clint mumbled and walked away casually down the hall.

_~A~_

Natasha walked slowly into the workshop. Bruce and Tony were off in some other lab working on their super-serum-booster-shot and Steve was sitting solemnly on the exam table, his feet hanging limply over the edge. His chin was resting on his chest. She thought he might be sleeping but the steady, regular beeping from one of the machines told her he wasn't. He looked different. Not just because he was significantly less muscular than two days ago, but also because he seemed to have some enormous weight on his shoulders. She sat lightly next to him on the bed. Steve opened his eyes and rolled his neck until they were fixed on the ceiling. He sighed. Natasha could see that he was in pain.

"They say my cells are destroying each other," Steve practically whispered, "That my body is deteriorating."

"I know," she said softly.

"Can you talk to Fury?" he breathed, "Tell him I'm gonna need a ride to my apartment and a bottle of Scotch."

Natasha looked at his chest. His breathing was shallow and irregular. He was falling apart. "Why?" she asked.

"Well I figure if the serum is wearing off I can get drunk again."

"No," she said, "Why do you want to go back to your apartment? We're not done yet." When Steve didn't respond she continued softly, "Negotiations for Loki's placement are being made as we speak. My guess is he'll go back to Asgard with Thor. We're going to need Captain Amer – "

"I'm not Captain America anymore!" Steve shouted. He sighed and closed his eyes, dropping his chin to his chest again with a pained grimace. Natasha studied his face. His cheeks were sunken in and the skin below his eyes drooped slightly. He had his eyes closed tightly, lines forming above his nose where his brow furrowed.

"Don't do this to yourself," Natasha chided. She felt like she'd used that phrase one too many times already.

"I'm not doing this to myself," Steve said, "I didn't choose this in the first place. Dr. Erskine chose me. I'm glad he did, don't get me wrong, but now…" he trailed off. He wanted to help people. That was all. And he couldn't do that anymore if he could hardly run a mile without passing out. Dr. Erskine's experiment was the best thing that ever happened to him. He could finally make a difference. Now he felt helpless and used up. He was done. There was nothing to do but slip into a drunken stupor and wait out his days.

"Steve," Natasha said, "Look at me." He did. Her gorgeous eyes stared into his. He saw the concern on her usually impossible to read face. Did she actually care about him? "Captain America isn't just a muscular guy in a suit with a shield," she said, "Captain America is a leader and a good man. He's damn smart when it comes to tactics and he'll do anything to help someone in need."

Steve looked away from her, but Natasha saw the beginnings of a smile brush across his face. "Steve, suit or no suit, muscles or no muscles, you are Captain America. Captain America is in here," she tapped his chest lightly with the tip of her finger, "and he's not going anywhere."

They sat in silence next to each other, neither willing to talk anymore. Natasha felt like she'd been doing most of the talking recently anyway. Steve was quietly ruminating on what she'd said, and how she'd said it. She reminded him so much of Peggy. Strong, intelligent, not afraid to speak her mind or stand up for herself, yet always ready and willing to follow orders, when said orders were reasonable. As much as he hated to admit it, the Black Widow was growing on him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought she may be manipulating him in some S.H.I.E.L.D. driven way, but he brushed off the thought. He needed her right now.

Steve shifted his weight. "Don't move, okay?" he said almost inaudibly. He leaned over slowly and rested his head on Natasha's shoulder. It was unprofessional. Uncalled for. Completely unlike him. She was his teammate. Not to mention he'd barely met her. But at the moment, Steve didn't really care about any of that. The tension in his shoulders relaxed and he sighed again. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Natasha said gently. Her red curls brushed his sandy hair. He smelled like soot. Natasha smiled to herself, realizing he hadn't had a chance to shower off after the battle. Steve's appearance was hardly ever less than regulation and she figured if he wasn't hooked up to a hundred of Stark's machines his hair would be perfectly gelled and combed, his clothes clean and pressed.

"They'll fix this, right?" Steve whispered.

"Right," Natasha whispered back.

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Author's Note: Thank you for reading! What did you think? This is my very first go at writing fanfic so PLEASE give me feedback! If you guys liked this maybe I'll venture out and write some more...


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: The characters depicted here are not owned by me. All hail Marvel.

Author's Note: I published the first chapter of this fanfic about a week ago not really knowing what people would think of it, and, I have to say, I was blown away by the reviews/alerts it got! Here's a huge thank you to everyone who read, and an even bigger thank you to everyone who reviewed, the first chapter. I really appreciate it and hope you enjoy the second chapter as well!

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Tony's head rested heavily on the dashboard of his sports car. It was sitting, quite strikingly he thought, in the basement garage of Stark Tower. Steve's motorcycle was propped in the corner and a standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D. sedan was parked opposite Tony's sports car. He sighed and glanced at the car's display. The glowing blue digits blinked _03:00_. He grumbled and sat up, rubbing his face roughly with his hands. He'd been in the lab all day with Bruce but had migrated to the basement when Bruce had stalked off to bed around midnight, very much defeated. Their solution, a "booster shot" as Agent Barton had so curtly called it, seemed brilliant. Tony scoffed at the thought now. He silently cursed Dr. Erskine and all of his ancestors. He couldn't make bricks without clay. Couldn't engineer a booster shot when he hadn't the slightest idea what the formula for the original shot was. He slammed his fist on the dash and cussed loudly. Steve was _dying_ ninety floors above him and he was sitting in a ridiculously overpriced car cussing out a dead man.

"I've gotta get outta here," Tony muttered and stuck the keys in the ignition. The car's engine roared to life. He leaned on the gas pedal and burst from the garage, heading swiftly up the debris-covered street.

_~A~_

Soft morning light filtered through the window and danced across Steve's face. He was back in Stark Tower's recovery room upon Natasha's request. "You'll be more comfortable there," she'd said. She was right, of course. Stark's workshop was efficient but quite a bit shy of homey. The cotton sheets felt nice and he was propped up with three huge pillows. Natasha was asleep in the chair next to his bed and he gazed out the window. It was a beautiful day in New York City, the calm after the storm. Steve was pretty sure it wouldn't last. This time he'd been thrust into seemed just as full of turmoil as his own. He took a deep breath and felt his whole body shiver with the effort. The crooks of his elbows ached from the multiple wires. Everything ached. He'd been lying awake for nearly an hour, unable to slip back into unconsciousness because of the pain. His eyes drifted to Natasha's sleeping form. Her chest rose and fell evenly, her scarlet hair hanging loosely over her face. She looked small, fragile even, which was quite the contradiction. His mind wandered to the battle, how she'd carried herself on the battlefield, how she'd taken matters into her own hands and procured a "ride" to the top of the tower. A small smile crossed his face and just as quickly dissipated. There was suddenly someone else in the room.

"Ah, the soldier," sneered the maniacal voice.

Steve tensed, his eyes boring into his surprise visitor. "Fury know you took a walk, Loki?"

The god of mischief laughed coldly, a demented smile spreading across his face. "You look different, Captain. Was my army a bit too much for the old man?"

Steve glanced at Natasha out of the corner of his eye. She was sound asleep, the deadly war criminal standing three feet away from her.

"You're the only one who can see me, Steve," Loki said, taking a few steps forward. "Your 'team' cannot come to your rescue."

"We beat your army, Loki," Steve said, doing his best to muster a commanding tone. His best wasn't good enough. His voice came out crackling and weak.

Loki smirked, "Yes, you destroyed the Chitauri and captured me. Well done. But at what cost? The one you call 'Phil' is dead. Your beloved New York City is in shambles, and many think your little 'team' should be held accountable for the damage."

Steve's heart rate picked up, evident from the beeping machines next to him. He felt his pulse beat in his temples, a headache forming quickly. His vision blurred and he was forced to tightly close his eyes.

Loki chuckled cruelly. "Plus, you, the leader of the mighty Avengers, is dying, beyond the help of your team's two geniuses."

"You're wrong," Steve managed. His head was pounding now. He grit his teeth.

"Am I?" Loki snarled. "Am I, Captain?" His form shimmered and he was suddenly looming over Steve, his cold expression savoring the captain's pain. "It seems to me that now you really are a man out of time." Loki lunged forward and wrapped his hand around Steve's throat.

Steve gasped and the machines created a cacophony of alarms as Loki slowly tightened his grip. Steve's eyes widened and he brought his hands up to Loki's forearms, weakly scrambling to release the god's hold. He glanced helplessly at Natasha. _Why wasn't she waking up?_

Loki ground his teeth together, laughter slipping out the side of his mouth. He wasn't being sent back to Asgard without personally mutilating at least one more of his brother's little teammates.

The beeping became more frantic as Steve's face turned the color of his uniform. Steve's eyes were open, his fingers prying desperately at the metal studded sleeves. A strangled gasp escaped his lips and his hand went slack, falling to the bed.

"Yes," Loki hissed, "The mighty Captain America falls to –," A sharp pain erupting from his arm cut Loki off mid sentence. His grip loosened and he looked over his shoulder. The god's ex-pawn was standing in the doorway, his body rigid, another arrow knocked and pointed at Loki's head.

"Let go," Clint growled.

Loki grinned, "Ah, Agent Barton. The assassin. My old," his form shimmered and he reappeared behind the archer, "Friend."

Steve's face, though the machines still screeched, returned to its original color. His whole body was limp, unconscious at best.

Clint spun around, the tip of his arrow inches from Loki's pointed nose.

"How can you see me, Barton?" Loki asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

"You were in my head," Clint muttered, "Guess I was in yours a bit too." He released the arrow. It soared through Loki's dissipating form and lodged itself in the wall.

Natasha's eyes snapped open and she leapt off of the chair, drawing her gun and standing up in one fluid motion. She aimed the barrel at where Loki had been standing. "Dammit," she spat.

The two agents ran to Steve's side, Clint pressing his finger to a device in his ear. "I need a medical team here _now_," he said. "Send Banner and Stark, too."

Natasha put her ear to Steve's chest. "Soft breath sounds. He's alive." Clint repeated the report into his communications link. A team of medical personnel, probably sent over from S.H.I.E.L.D. judging by their equipment, ran into the room followed closely by Bruce. Clint and Natasha stepped back and let them do their jobs. In minutes Steve was stable and lying unconscious on the bed, five long bruises appearing on his neck. The medical team left, leaving Natasha, Clint, and Bruce standing silently, staring at Steve.

Natasha fell into the chair, her head in her hands. "I heard everything," she said, "but I couldn't move. I couldn't help him."

"Loki," Bruce muttered. "The bastard must have put you under some kind of spell." He turned his attention to the archer whose white knuckles still clasped his bow. "Clint, how could you see him? He didn't show up on any of Stark's security feeds."

Clint ignored the question. "Where is Stark?"

"He disappeared early this morning," Natasha said. "Does Fury know Loki escaped from S.H.I.E.L.D. custody?"

Clint shook his head, mumbled a cuss word, and ran out of the room. Bruce leaned against the wall, vigorously messaging his forehead.

_~A~_

"JARVIS?" Tony shouted, walking through the door of his Malibu home.

"Yes, sir?" JARVIS responded, the lights turning on. A slight buzz sounded from the walls as the house's electronic mainframe woke up.

"Remember Dad's S.H.I.E.L.D. chest?" Tony asked, throwing the keys to the sports car and two metal wristbands on a nearby end table. "The one Fury brought over?"

"The one received while you were dying, sir?"

"How many times have I told you, JARVIS? I was not dying. I was simply…" he trailed off. "You know what," he rubbed his eyes, "I'm too tired to be witty. Just tell me where the chest is."

"Downstairs, sir," JARVIS said. "Shoved in the corner where you left it."

"Remind me to knock 'condescension' out of your programming," Tony grumbled.

"Pardon, sir?"

"Nothing, JARVIS!" Tony called. He walked over to the stairs and went, two at a time, down to his workshop. He punched in his security code and sprinted over to the corner where the S.H.I.E.L.D. chest sat collecting dust. He'd gotten it delivered by the one-eyed-wonder after he'd gone on his drunken rampage and, okay, he'd admit it, nearly died. It held a few film reels, a few blueprints, a few notebooks, and, as it turned out, the secret to a new element that now ran Tony's heart. He stared at the chest. It wasn't that easy was it? No way it had been in his possession all this time.

Tony knelt down and opened the chest, peering inside. It had been in one of the notebooks, hadn't it? He rubbed his eyes again. He hadn't slept for days. Sure, after the Avengers had so heroically saved the world he'd gotten a few hours of shuteye, but that hardly counted. He needed about twenty-four hours of pure, unadulterated sleep, preferably in a private lodge on some scarcely visited mountain. With no phone lines or cell phone service. In an area undetectable by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s satellites. Tony rummaged through the contents of the chest, quickly glancing at each item and then tossing it over his shoulder when it didn't hold what he was looking for.

"Sir," JARVIS said, "Agent Romanoff is on the line. She says it's urgent."

"Dammit," Tony said under his breath. That couldn't be good. The Black Widow wasn't a huge fan of his and if _she_ was calling _him_… He fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and held it to his ear. "Speak."

"Stark, where the hell are you?" Natasha demanded. She sounded pissed.

"Oh, you know," Tony said nonchalantly, "Malibu. Problem?"

"Why are you," she started, but changed her mind, deciding that Stark's motives were better left unquestioned. "It's Loki."

Tony tensed. "What'd the bastard do now?" he snarled.

"He escaped," Natasha muttered grudgingly.

"Wasn't he, oh, I don't know," Tony said testily, "In S.H.I.E.L.D. custody?"

"Shut up, Stark," the assassin growled. "Point is, he escaped. And he was in the tower this morning." For once, the arrogant billionaire was speechless. Natasha reveled in the silence for a moment. Only a moment. "He attacked Rogers. Barton stopped him. Rogers is stable but still unconscious. S.H.I.E.L.D. has yet to get a bead on Loki's location."

Tony's jaw clenched. He removed the phone from his ear and hit the "end call" button. Natasha would probably scold him for that later, but he really had no response to her news that didn't involve cussing out S.H.I.E.L.D. and calling Loki some very inventive names.

He leaned over and rummaged through the chest again. The notebook he was looking for was tucked under a "Captain America" comic book on the very bottom. Go figure. Tony picked up the comic and looked at the drawing of Steve on the front. He thought the artist was being a bit generous with the muscle. Steve was a stud, sure, but his bulk didn't stick a foot off of his body like in the comics. He picked up the notebook next. It was old and leather bound with an elastic strap keeping it closed. He flipped through it to make sure it was the right one and then threw everything but the book and the comic, which he slipped into his jacket pocket, back in the chest. He latched the chest tightly and ran up the stairs, grabbing the keys and the wristbands on his way out.

"JARVIS," he said, strapping a metal band on each wrist, "Lock the house behind me, would you?"

"Yes, sir," JARVIS answered. "May I ask where you are going now?"

"Back to Manhattan," Tony said through his teeth. "Loki just made everything personal again."

_~A~_

Natasha gently stroked the back of Steve's hand, her fingers wound firmly around his. He'd been unconscious for hours, but Bruce assured her his body was just using all available energy to keep him alive. The bruises on his neck were ugly, blackish-purple marks. She could see red splotches where blood was pooling under the skin. She counted them. Five. One for each of the demi-god's murderous fingers. She subconsciously gripped Steve's hand tighter. Loki had compromised her. Thrown a sight and motion restricting veil over her but left every other sense completely aware of what was going on. She could hear Loki's sneers, his threats, his jabs at Steve and the rest of the team. Feel the pain Steve was enduring when Loki attempted to kill him. Her hand floated up and rubbed her own neck. She knew what it was like to be strangled. The helplessness. The hopelessness.

She shook the thoughts out of her head and rested her cheek on Steve's hand. It was cold, almost lifeless. Loki was right. He was dying. Steve was dying and Stark was in Malibu, probably avoiding his responsibilities as usual. She'd warned Fury about the billionaire, told her director not to allow him a slot in the Avengers Initiative. Fury hadn't listened. It was the right call of course. Stark possessed a brilliant mind and turned out to be a valuable asset in the field, but at the moment Natasha hated his guts. He should be there, in the lab with Bruce. Working on saving Steve. Steve, the team's leader. The living legend.

"You love him," Clint said matter-of-factly. Natasha lifted her head slowly and looked at the man leaning on the wall. It wasn't often Clint could sneak up on her like that. "You love him," her partner repeated.

Natasha shook her head. "Love is for children."

"Yeah," he said. "But I know that look."

She shifted her gaze from Clint to Steve. Steve's face was peaceful, a welcome change to the pained grimace he'd been sporting lately.

"I haven't seen you act like this since Budapest," Clint muttered.

"Are we thinking of the same Budapest?" she asked.

Clint chuckled, remembering their exchange while fighting off a hoard of Chitauri warriors. "I think we are. We just," he paused, studying her expression, "Remember it differently." She looked, above all else, tired, but he assumed they all did. It was rare to get a good night's sleep this soon after a mission like that. However, beneath the exhaustion was something he wasn't used to seeing in Natasha. Fear. He wondered if it was fear that Loki was off causing trouble somewhere or fear for Steve. Probably both. Probably more so the latter.

"I want the bastard dead, Clint," Natasha said, her voice heavy with loathing.

"I know," he replied calmly.

"Dead," she said. "Not imprisoned. Not sent back to Asgard. Dead."

"I do too, Tasha," Clint sighed.

A metallic thud outside the window stole their attention. A familiar red and gold form stuck its head into the room. The facemask slid up. "Miss me?"

Natasha rolled her eyes and looked back at Steve. Tony climbed through the window and took off his helmet. "Heads up, Robin Hood," he said and threw it to Clint. Clint sidestepped purposely and the helmet clattered to the floor. Tony shot him a look caught between amusement and annoyance.

"Woops," Clint mumbled. Tony could have easily flown to the roof, dismembered his suit, and then walked through the door in civilian clothes, but no. The playboy loved a good entrance.

Tony surveyed the room, his eyes landing on Natasha and Steve. He froze for a moment. "Oh no," he said. "You two?"

Clint suppressed a chuckle. Natasha practically growled.

"I mean, you two," Tony said, gesturing between Natasha and Clint, "I can see, but you and him?" He pointed at Steve. "The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan? The moral, compassionate, selfless, patriotic –"

"Enough, Stark," Natasha threatened.

"Nah, let him continue," Clint said. "I'm wondering how long it'll take before he runs out of adjectives."

Bruce walked into the room with a Stark Tech computer pad in his hands. He looked the metal-clad Tony up and down, a confused expression on his face. "Didn't you," he cocked his head, "Didn't you take the car?"

"Ah, yes," Tony mused. "Pretty on the outside but not quite feisty enough for me on the inside. Like some models I know, actually."

"How did you make it to Malibu and back so quickly?" Bruce asked, confusion still dominating his features.

Tony raised his eyebrows and shrugged, "I _am_ Iron Man."

Natasha glared at Tony. Her expression was cold, but Clint noticed the same fear still hiding on her face. He wondered how long it would last.

Thor came lumbering into the room. Bruce sighed in frustration. This room was far too small to hold the whole team and if they started arguing again… _Time bomb_, he thought.

"Friend Hawk!" Thor yelled boisterously, clapping Clint on the back. Clint winced. Thor, being a demi-god, didn't quite understand that vaulting off of a building and crashing through a window five stories below caused lasting pain. "Let us be off," the Asgardian continued. "We must find my brother and return him to your agency. He will pay most grievously for his crimes."

"Hold up, Hamlet," Tony grumbled. "I need you all here, especially Barton, guarding Rogers. If Loki decides to come back do you think he'll let himself fail again?" A silence fell on the group. Loki. Tony thought they were finished with the psycho killer after they'd handed him off to S.H.I.E.L.D. but now the brilliant intelligence agency had let him get away. Again. An agent had briefed Tony on Loki's tirade on his way back from Malibu. Loki had slipped in past Stark Tower's security – damn him – and then tried to end Steve once and for all. He wasn't sure how Barton had seen and stopped Loki, no one was, and Barton wasn't talking about it. Tony glanced at the bruises on Steve's neck. They were deep and turning all shades of pain. He grit his teeth. If he ever got his hands on Loki he'd make the son of a bitch regret ever setting foot on Earth in the first place.

Bruce sighed again and walked over to Steve. He checked the displays on the machines and adjusted a few wires, a frown materializing on his face. Natasha tensed.

"He should be awake," Bruce said sadly.

"Yeah, see, when a maniac attacks you, your subconscious tends to take over," Tony said, scratching his head. "See his eyes? REM. He's dreaming. Deeply. And it's probably not particularly pleasant."

_~A~_

"Another drink, buddy?" the bar tender asked gruffly. Steve glanced at his group of friends. The mighty "Howling Commandos" were sitting raucously around a small table in the corner, laughing and carrying on.

"Another round, I think," Steve said with a chuckle. "Put it on my tab." He turned around and propped his elbows on the bar. He was in a small club bursting with people having a grand old time. They were clutching newspapers with "VE-Day" written in big, eye-catching letters. He was dressed in his military uniform, his hair combed perfectly and a bright new medal pinned to his chest. Nothing hurt. No wires dangled from his arms. Everything was perfect.

A woman in a dashing red dress walked over to him and rested her hands on his shoulders. She kissed him. He kissed her back. Dugan let out a catcall. The woman smiled as he continued kissing her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear. "Care to dance?" breathed a familiar voice. Her breath was warm and made the hairs on his neck stand up. He grinned and spun her around, leading her to the dance floor.

"You, know," he said as they twirled in the middle of the mass of people on the dance floor, "You are an excellent dance teacher."

"Show me what you've learned, Captain," she said playfully. He pulled her close as a slow song began and together they swayed with the rest of the crowd. She brushed her lips across his and he buried his face in her red hair.

Red hair. Steve's smile faded as the false reality he was trapped in began to crumble. "Na… Natasha?" he stammered.

"Why yes," the woman said, smiling up at him. There she was. Natasha Romanoff. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent from the 21st century. He stepped back and gripped her shoulders, staring into her eyes. "Is something wrong, Captain?" she asked.

"Yes," hissed a voice from over his shoulder. "Is something wrong?"

Steve spun around and suddenly all of the people disappeared. It was just him and the source of the voice. Loki lounged leisurely on the bar.

"Hello, Captain," he said smugly. "Have you enjoyed this realm I created for you?"

"What is this, Loki?" Steve demanded. "Where are we?" His voice sounded strange. Not weak as it had been while he was lying in bed, but hollow. The pain returned and he fell to his knees. He longed for the hospital bed, the wires.

Loki smirked and stood up, staring down at the fallen soldier.

"Are you here to kill me?" Steve breathed, doubled over.

"Captain, if I were here to kill you, you would already be dead."

_~A~_

"Rogers!" Tony shouted above the screaming machines. He was pounding on Steve's chest, desperately trying to revive the man. "Dammit, Rogers, don't make me kiss you!"

Steve gasped, his eyes flying open. The beeping slowed as his vitals returned to normal.

"Damn you, Rogers," Tony panted, slumping against the wall and sliding to the ground. He had just walked in to check some levels and take a few readings. Then the son of a bitch flat lined.

Steve looked around, half expecting Loki to be standing there smirking at him. He was lying flat on the bed in the recovery room, his pillows and sheets having been removed. The room was empty except for Tony and the sun was slowly setting outside the window. His mouth was dry and he attempted a swallow, but groaned, reaching up to rub his neck.

"You had a visitor," Tony said vehemently. "Loki."

"I remember," Steve croaked. He could still see the god's murderous smile hanging over him. Feel the cold, snakelike fingers wrapping around his neck. He thought of what the god had said in his dream. _If I were here to kill you, you would already be dead_. What the hell did that mean?

Tony scowled and stood up. Steve looked like hell. His skin was sallow and his face horribly sunken in. He looked emaciated, but Tony knew it was just the serum wreaking havoc on what it had created. He pulled the notebook out of his pocket and opened it, reading an entry, glancing up at Steve periodically.

Steve studied Tony. To be completely honest, he'd hated the man when he'd first met him. Tony was arrogant. He walked around like he owned everything and everyone was beneath him. He pushed boundaries, and not in a good way. But, Tony had a heart. Steve had seen that much.

"Hey, Cap?" Tony said. "Did you pose for your comic book artists?"

Steve stared at him uncomprehendingly. That was maybe the last thing he'd expected to come out of Tony's mouth.

"Here," Tony said, tossing a folded stack of paper onto Steve's chest. Steve picked up the paper and unfolded it. It was a faded old first edition "Captain America" comic. A modified version of what was supposed to be him smiled courageously on the cover. The cartoon's muscles bulged, his shield hefted high over his head. The corners of Steve's mouth twitched into a slight smile. Nostalgia washed over him. He remembered the day those comics were printed.

"That," Tony said, "Was in a chest given to S.H.I.E.L.D. by my dad. Fury gave it to me when I…" he trailed off. Steve didn't push for the end of the sentence. He'd read Tony's file when he'd been asked to join the Avengers Initiative. He knew Tony had almost died and he knew that Howard's S.H.I.E.L.D. chest had held the key to Tony's new reactor core.

"That comic was my dad's," Tony muttered, flipping through the leather bound notebook again. "He worshipped the ground you walked on you know."

"Really now?" Steve scoffed. His voice sounded like he'd been gargling rocks. "Howard Stark worshipped the ground _I_ walked on? I find that hard to believe."

Tony chuckled bitterly. Steve frowned. He knew Tony's relationship with his father wasn't the best, but they were so alike in so many ways…

Tony pulled something out of the notebook and walked over to Steve. "It dawned on me, sometime early this morning actually, that Erskine wasn't the only one who worked on your serum." He handed Steve an old photo pulled from the book.

A lump formed in Steve's throat. On the thick piece of 1940's photo paper stood three people, their arms draped loosely around one another. On the left was Dr. Erskine, alive and well, beaming at the camera. On the right stood Howard Stark dressed in a pristine suit, his hat crooked on his sleek black hair, looking shockingly identical to Tony. In between the two scientists was a beautiful dame in a skirt and collared shirt, her brown hair styled perfectly, brushing her shoulders. Her smile was bright and happy, her lips framing her dazzling teeth with, Steve knew in spite of the photo being in black and white, a coating of red lipstick. Peggy Carter. His eyes watered.

"Can I have this picture?" Steve said, his voice cracking.

"Yeah," Tony said softly. "I'd never seen a picture of all three of them together. That Carter woman was _hot_." This drew, much to Tony's delight, a menacing glare from Steve. Tony knew the story. His dad had told it to him a million times. _It was love_, his dad would say, _a shame they never got to say it to each other_.

Bruce walked quickly into the room. "Stark," he said excitedly. "We did it."

Steve stared blankly at the man. "You what?"

"We did it, big guy," Tony said, rubbing his tired eyes. "Er, soon to be big guy again."

"It finished synthesizing a moment ago," Bruce said, a huge grin on his face. "Barton and a medical team are bringing it up now." It'd taken a fully powered arc reactor, five pints of Steve's blood, and a good dose of luck, but they'd done it thanks to the notebook Tony's dad had left in the chest.

"No," Tony said through a partially stifled yawn. "I want JARVIS to run a full diagnostic test on it before we…" his sentence trailed into one enormous yawn after which Tony rubbed his faced and snapped, "God, Rogers, I've been up for days working on this damn thing. Better work."

Steve was lost. What had they done? They couldn't have created… It wasn't possible to… Natasha appeared in the doorway and came to Steve's side.

"They did it, Captain," she said softly, the faint trace of a smile on her face.

That's when it clicked. The booster shot. Somehow Tony and Bruce had managed to forge the booster shot they had thought up in the lab. "How?" Steve asked incredulously.

Tony rapped his knuckles on the leather bound notebook. Bruce nodded eagerly, practically jumping up and down with excitement. "During World War II," Bruce said, an anxious edge to his voice, "There were German spies everywhere. Dr. Erskine wasn't able to record any detailed notes of his research. But Howard Stark worked on the project too, and he hid notes about Erskine's formula in his own research."

Tony yawned again. "There was enough crap in this book that I," Bruce shot him a look, "Sorry, _we_, were able to put together a viable injection."

Steve was slack jawed. He wasn't sure what emotion he should be feeling. The obvious one would be excitement, but he wasn't really excited. Not yet. He was sort of relieved, but there was something nagging at the back of his brain that he couldn't shake.

His face fell and his jaw clenched. "Loki."

All of the excitement left the room. It was amazing what a mere mention of the bastard could do to the team. Bruce's shoulders fell and Natasha's whole body tensed. Tony balled his fists and said darkly, "Once you're fixed we'll go after him."

Clint walked into the room with a metal case, followed by Thor and two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents wielding large, deadly looking guns. Clint was in full mission-ready attire, his quiver and bow strapped stiffly to his back. His dark sunglasses and the determined scowl on his face hid the exhaustion in his eyes. Natasha glanced at him. There was ferocity in her partner that only came out when he was longing for one thing: revenge.

Tony took the case from Clint and pulled a large syringe filled with blue liquid out of it. "JARVIS," he called. "I want full spectrum diagnostic tests run on this formula."

"Yes, sir," JARVIS said. "Estimated time of completion: three hours."

Steve clenched his fists. Natasha noticed. There was clearly something weighing heavily on his mind. Was it the same thing biting at Clint?

"Can I see it?" Steve requested. His voice was still rough and weak, the bruises on his neck worse than they had been when Natasha was in the room earlier. She studied him, trying to guess his play. His eyes were fixed on the syringe in Tony's hand.

Tony glanced at Bruce. Bruce shrugged. Tony handed the syringe to Steve.

Steve rolled the glass phial around with his fingers. The day in Erskine's secret lab flashed to the forefront of his mind. The day that had changed his life forever. The day that lead to him lying in a 21st century hospital bed in a tower built by Howard Stark's son. The day that lead to him meeting Loki. He wrapped his right hand tightly around the syringe, his thumb brushing the plunger.

"How long?" Steve asked, his voice tight. Tension hung in the room. The team froze, staring at the captain. "How long?" Steve asked again, putting as much force behind his words as he could muster.

"Tests will take three hours," Bruce said slowly, carefully. "Then it needs a one hour stabilizing period and then there's no telling how long it will take your body to accept and enable it." Bruce studied the captain's face nervously. It bore harsh determination, driven by a force unknown to anyone but Steve. "Captain," Bruce cautioned. "Put down the syringe."

Steve looked at Bruce, then at Tony. Both wore cautioning grimaces, their eyes locked on him, unsure of his next move. His brow furrowed and he looked at Natasha. She was standing right next to him, her scrutinizing expression watching his every twitch. What Steve was considering was risky. It was rash and unplanned. Everything he preached against.

Natasha looked into Steve's eyes. They were tired and full of pain, but a spark of something else had taken over. Desperation.

Steve stabbed the syringe into his left arm in one quick motion, before anyone could stop him. "Sorry," he gasped, jamming down the plunger with his thumb, "Computer was movin' a little slow for me."

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! PLEASE take the time to write a review. I'm still new at this and thrive off of your feedback. Chapter 3 coming soon :)


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